Glowing in Gold: The Brothers Duke: Book Five Read online

  Glowing in Gold

  by Felicia Greene

  Jane Selkirk, a woman who had never been previously accused of cowardice, was frightened. So frightened, in fact, that she was standing outside the Duke townhouse with shaking hands and a racing heart. Dead leaves blew about her in a small, irritating whirlwind, the dust and noise of the London street a cacophony as she gingerly went up the steps to the front door.

  ‘Miss Selkirk.’ The Duke brothers had evidently started hiring the best sort of servant; the butler didn’t turn a hair, even if she had arrived most unexpectedly. ‘Would you like tea to be prepared while the lady of the house finishes consulting with the gardener?’

  ‘Oh, goodness no. Don’t bother with tea.’ She had never quite gained the knack of speaking to staff, and settled for an inelegant tone that failed to please both others and herself. ‘I’ll sit in the study.’

  ‘Of course.’ The butler paused, evidently searching for a way to tell her that such a thing was impossible. ‘I’m afraid that the study is in a slightly disordered–’

  ‘Doesn’t matter in the slightest.’ She had never succeeded in imagining the inside of the Duke townhouse, let alone the condition of the study. All she knew was that a room full of books would leave her more comfortable while on this most uncomfortable of errands. ‘Show me up.’

  ‘Are you sure the morning room wouldn’t suffice as a–’

  ‘No. And we’re going to waste time on the front step arguing about it.’ Jane saw the butler flinch at her plain tongue; he’d be telling the rest of the staff how ill-mannered she was as soon as he had a moment to himself, no doubt. Still, nothing to be done about that. ‘Show me to the study, if you’d be so good.’

  The man’s face revealed nothing, but his reluctant step as he led her into the house let Jane know exactly how irritated he was. After a flight of stairs and a corridor carpeted with thick Turkish rugs, he unceremoniously pulled open a door that revealed a crackling fire and rows upon rows of books. ‘The study, ma’am. I will alert Mrs. Duke directly.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Jane stepped into the room, letting out a satisfied sigh as she saw a pile of newspapers. That had always been Margaret’s habit–a cup of tea and news from every corner of London. How good to know that she maintained this custom, even in married life. ‘Thinking about it, perhaps a cup of–’

  The door had already closed. Jane, laughing silently to herself at how thoroughly she’d offended the butler, sank into an armchair and picked up a newspaper.

  If she could sit like this as she usually did in her own home, reading the news and idly contemplating her usual subjects of interest–astronomy was the latest–she could avoid feeling frightened. Avoid that terrible, sick feeling in her stomach that left her with trembling fingers and a pounding heart, ready to go home and never bother anyone again.

  Other women grew excited at the prospect of finding a husband. They relaxed at the idea of a gentleman to share one’s life with. Jane could think of nothing worse—not the husband part, but the finding. But the alternative was admitting to herself just how lonely she was, how desperate for loving, stimulating company, and how unlikely it was that such company would ever be found.

  She had missed her chance. That was the long and short of it. With no mother to teach her the ways of womanhood, and an active mind that had rejected wasting time on fripperies, she had been an abominably plain child and a pudgy, pale adolescent with no knowledge of how to make herself look more appealing. When her first Season had come, her father had spent enormous amounts of money on gowns that were the best of their kind but did absolutely nothing to favour her face or form. The first ball had been a dismal failure, then the second, then the third… by the time the thirteenth had arrived and her dance card had not a single entry, Jane had learned to accept the harsh truth of her situation.

  She was unmarriageable. Well, all right. She would need to find other ways to live her life. And over the decade that had followed, she had created an existence devoted to scholarly investigation, artistic excellence and the cultivation of true friendship. It was a wonderful life in almost every respect, and she was grateful for it every day…

  … but somewhere deep inside her, the ugly child and awkward young woman was still weeping. Still asking piteously why she had thrown away the chance of finding true, deep love, because she was too frightened of people laughing at her. Now, at thirty years old, she wasn’t going to ignore that young woman anymore.

  It meant asking for help, of course. How she hated having to do that. Asking for help from Margaret, one of her oldest and best friends, was better than begging for help from strangers–but still, how embarrassing. Asking for the most basic, necessary tricks that should have been taught to her from birth–how to look pleasant, feel beautiful, feel confident…

  … no. She wouldn’t get caught up in the terror again, here in front of the fire. She would think about helpful, useful things–things that would aid Margaret with what would no doubt be a very difficult job. Such as what sort of gentleman would make a good husband, the sort of man that could be persuaded to have her.

  Someone gentle enough to take pity on her deficiencies. Someone who could bear her intelligence, her wit, her inability to hold her tongue–oh, what a patient man he’d need to be. A saint. Perhaps a vicar, then. Someone chaste and good, used to lost causes.

  ‘Oh, Jane.’ She sighed to herself as the fire flickered, trying to concentrate on the newspaper and failing. ‘How hopeless it all seems.’

  Edward Duke yawned and stretched, idly kicking a cushion as he readjusted himself on the chaise longue. Wincing as the brandy he’d drunk the night before made itself felt, finding a scrap of paper in his waistcoat with an illegible scrawl that was probably very important, he weakly threw it into the corner of the morning room as he sighed.

  The butler hadn’t found him, then. He probably didn’t know where he was; the other brothers were all so busy with their new wives that he had become something of an afterthought for the staff. Now that Thomas and Dorothea were expecting a child, Robert and Charlotte were purchasing yet more property, John and Anne were investing every spare moment in their newly-founded art school and Henry and Margaret were planning adjustments to the very townhouse he was currently lying in, it was a wonder if he ever managed to get a hot meal.

  Marriage. Of all the foolhardy decisions. Edward yawned again, wishing he felt slightly worse. That way he could drift back into untroubled sleep on the chaise longue and not have to face the business of the day. Namely, nothing of interest. Just acres and acres of boredom, growing ever more frustrating as the days passed.

  He’d never considered it possible to whore one’s way through the entirety of London. New pleasure-houses sprang up every week, common as weeds by now–and even if one didn’t wish to enter a house of ill-repute, there were plenty of ladies of ill-repute willing to be seduced in any number of environments. Unfortunately, and to no small amount of shock, he simply… well. He simply didn’t want to.

  There was nothing wrong with him physically. He’d been to his most trusted physician and had been assured on all fronts that his machinery and spirit still worked in tandem to produce the desired effect. He’d prayed with more than his usual bored sense of duty, asking the Almighty to at least show him clearly why he didn’t care for rakehood anymore. When no convenient bolt of lightning or burning bush had appeared, he’d lapsed into a dull period of inactivity that was rapidly beginning to irk him.

  Why couldn’t he simply play the rake until the desire returned? He had no shortage of offers; five of the city’s most ardently affectionate courtesans had written him the p
rettiest letters scented with all sorts of exotic perfumes, begging him to return. One of the pleasure-house directors had even written to him to enquire about his health. Despite being treated like a nobleman, at least among London’s less salubrious establishments, the urge to return to them hadn’t arrived yet–and damn it, when would it?

  Lord, he was boring himself. If he stayed here any longer, haunting the house like a spectre that no servant could see, there was every chance he’d fade into the walls and never be seen again. Time to conduct a tour of the house, to see if one of his brothers could spare a moment to say something soothing or give him a few coins. Enough money to buy something substantial to eat from one of the nearby chophouses, rather than go into the kitchen and make the cook remember who he was.

  There was someone in the study. He could hear the occasional flick of a newspaper page being turned. Probably Henry, then—he’d left Margaret to the rose garden, if that was what they’d been so ardently discussing at dinner the previous night. Henry wasn’t the easiest to converse with, but anything was better than his own mind. His own thoughts, chasing their tails like idiot spaniels as the day wore on.

  Stretching with more vigour, fighting another yawn, he padded down the corridor to the study. No matter what Henry was doing in there, he’d be able to distract him for long enough to provide a modicum of interest–or hell, he’d ball up pieces of paper and throw them at him, anything to kill the ennui…

  … it wasn’t Henry in the study. Not unless his brother had undergone a series of fundamental changes since they’d last seen one another. A woman was visible through the crack of the just-open door, reading one of the many newspapers with every evidence of interest, the crackling fire warming her recognisable face.

  Jane Selkirk? Margaret’s odd friend? What was the friend of his sister-in-law doing in his house, apparently so comfortable that she was all but putting her feet up on the fire-grate?

  Who on earth knew how to address Jane Selkirk? In truth, he had avoided speaking with her at length or being in company with her for any great amount of time. He had heard nothing but neutral things about her, of course–well, nothing terribly bad, at any rate–but there were the usual voices. Odd, sharp, strange… rather like the things that were said about his brother Henry, to tell the truth. But of course, it was different when it was a woman one was talking about. Especially a woman who never seemed to buy a new gown, look attentively at her own face or do anything with her hair.

  She wasn’t ugly. But then, he wouldn’t know—he’d certainly never looked at her closely. He’d looked at her gowns, her hair, and assumed the worst. Being alone with her had never been part of the plan.

  But, well… he was bored. Very bored. And of all the things that Jane Selkirk undoubtedly was, strange, sharp and odd among the adjectives one could use, boring certainly could never be applied to her.

  Perhaps his day had just become interesting.

  ‘Well.’ The element of surprise was always welcome. Edward enjoyed Jane’s slight gasp as he swept into the room without knocking, flinging himself into the chair opposite her. ‘Should I summon the Runners?’

  Jane was silent for a small, pointed moment. Edward, used to surprising women, was obscurely frustrated by the complete calm in her expression. Eventually, with a raised eyebrow, she spoke. ‘Why?’

  ‘Well. What are you doing here?’

  ‘What does it look like?’ Jane pointed crossly to the newspaper. ‘I’m reading.’

  ‘But this isn’t your house.’

  ‘I’m well-aware of that.’

  Edward, unused to someone effortlessly gaining the upper hand in a conversation, blinked. ‘But you didn’t announce yourself.’

  ‘Why would I have to announce myself? Margaret’s expecting me.’

  ‘But I didn’t know you were here.’

  ‘What would you have done if you knew I was here?’

  ‘I… well, I…’

  ‘You would have interrupted my pleasant hour of reading, just as you’re doing now, and peppered me with useless questions.’ Jane smiled. The sudden brightness in her face was shocking; Edward blinked again, unable to connect the beauty of the expression with the woman he’d barely noticed. ‘All I did was save myself a little time.’

  ‘You’ve insulted me, Miss Selkirk.’ Edward relaxed further in his chair, deliberately assuming a posture of total relaxation. The woman didn’t have to know how exercised he was. ‘Deeply.’

  ‘I don’t see how.’

  ‘You assume that I would pepper you with useless questions. Why would my questions be useless?’

  ‘Because we don’t know one another, have never expressed any curiosity about meeting one another, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen you glance at me for more than a moment. With these certainties established, why would any question you put to me suddenly acquire merit?’

  ‘You’re a dreadfully spiky female.’

  ‘I’m aware.’ Jane turned back to her newspaper. Edward wasn’t sure, but from the deep frown between her brows he was almost sure he’d hurt her. ‘You’re hardly the first to say it.’

  Lord, it was true. She’d probably heard it around the edges of every ballroom since her first Season. Given her usual air of being unflappable, it was strange to see her hurt—like a lion with a wounded paw. How on earth was he supposed to recover the conversation now—a conversation he had been enjoying? ‘I’m a completely unreliable judge of character. I wouldn’t listen to anything I say.’

  ‘You seem a good judge of your own character.’

  ‘Only when I’m considering my worst instincts.’

  ‘Most people are nothing more than their own worst instincts, covered with a thin veneer of manners.’

  ‘Come now. That’s a dreadful view of people.’

  ‘Perhaps we’ve met different people.’

  ‘The only person I’ve ever met who expressed a similarly gloomy view on humanity in general is my brother Henry.’

  ‘We’ve met at several scientific evenings. I like Henry. I admire him. Our minds run along similar paths.’

  ‘Yes. I rather think they do.’ It was definitely unacceptable for him to feel jealous of her evident admiration for his brother. ‘I’ll go and find him. You can have a more interesting conversation than the one you’re currently sharing with me.’

  ‘You’re a dreadfully spiky male.’

  Edward laughed. He couldn’t help it. The comment was so perfectly well-timed, so devastating, that he could barely restrain himself. ‘You’ve scored a hit.’

  ‘And I’ve barely begun. Astonishing, isn’t it?’

  ‘You’re really not going to tell me why you’re here at all?’

  ‘And why would I?’

  ‘Because I’ve asked you?’

  ‘If we all went hither and thither giving every answer asked of one, we would be forever distracted from more important businesses.’

  ‘I’m curious.’

  ‘Goodness.’ Jane smiled again. Edward expected not to be struck anew by the beauty of it, but his breath was taken away once again. ‘Why are you so curious?’

  ‘Well, I…’ Edward paused, wondering what glib line to use. What pretty collection of words would… would…

  … what on earth was he doing?

  ‘Well, Mr. Duke?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ The truth was certainly the last thing he’d been expecting to say, but there it was. ‘I don’t know why I’m curious, but… but I am.’

  It wasn’t the most elegant thing he’d ever said. Neither was the way he’d said it, unusually serious, almost clumsy. Jane’s eyes, wider than they’d been before, had lost their mischief.

  If he wasn’t an inveterate rake with no morals to speak of, this moment would feel… pure. Fascinating.

  Exciting.

  There was a knock at the door. Edward immediately leaned back in his chair, putting as much physical space as possible between himself and Miss Selkirk as Margaret walked into the room.
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  It had always been somewhat irritating, having an expert on the human heart as a sister-in-law. As a matchmaker of some repute before her unexpected marriage to Henry Duke, Margaret had developed a formidable ability to see into the soul of any gentleman unlucky enough to cross her path. Edward, who’d always been uncertain about the state of his soul, had tried to avoid that gimlet gaze–and now, caught in a room alone with Jane Selkirk, he felt obscurely guilty.

  ‘Margaret.’ He hurriedly rose to his feet, bowing as Margaret curtseyed. ‘You have a visitor.’ He looked at Jane, suddenly anxious. ‘At least—I assume she’s the person she wants to see.’

  ‘Who else would I have wished to see?’ Jane’s manner had changed; she was the same sardonic, slightly strange woman who had responded to his rude entrance. ‘Thank goodness you’re here, Margaret. Finally some conversation with a little sense.’

  Edward frowned. He definitely wasn’t supposed to feel hurt by that little witticism, but he did. Lord, what was wrong with him today? ‘I’ll go back to boring other people with my senseless conversations.’

  ‘No.’ There was a new light in Jane’s eyes as she stared at him. Edward was reminded of Henry when his brother pored over sheets of numbers, making them do complex dances in the privacy of his mind. ‘No–stay. If you would be so good.’

  ‘I’m rarely good, but I’ll stay.’ Edward caught sight of Margaret’s shocked gaze; that comment had probably gone a little too far. ‘I mean–I’ll stay.’

  ‘Forgive me.’ Margaret’s steady tone took effortless hold of the conversation. ‘But Jane–am I supposed to know what this meeting is about?’

  ‘Oh, no. I thought I’d take you by surprise, or I never would have done it at all.’ Jane shrugged, apparently happy, but Edward was almost sure he heard a touch of nervousness in her voice. ‘It’s a simple request, but with an enormously complicated amount of work behind it.’

  ‘Then I suggest you give your request immediately. All the better to begin work on it.’ Margaret half-turned to Edward. ‘And… and he must be present?’